Analog SFF, July-August 2010

by Dell Magazine Authors

“And what sort of ‘chap’ am I?”

  “Grammar school boy, redbrick college, then the Air Force.”

  Godwin sneered. “All very different for you, I imagine. What was it—Harrow and Oxford?”

  “Winchester and Cambridge, actually, but that's the idea. Never in the forces myself. Worked on radar research during the last lot.”

  “What an easy ride you've had.”

  “Hmmph. If you think a short-sighted, brainy kid has an easy ride at any English public school, you're wrong. But is that what you're all about, Godwin? Envy? Do you resent being posted up here to this backwater—especially as you've been sent home? You were quite high up in the War Office, weren't you, before Suez? When I mention your name it's that debacle that people talk of first.”

  “Some of us call it a betrayal.”

  “Ah, yes, our last imperial adventure, debagged when the Yanks wouldn't back us. I suppose you quite enjoy lording it over a base full of Americans now, do you?”

  “This is absurd. I've work to do.”

  “You should talk more, Godwin. Then you wouldn't explode as you do. Calm, calm, bang . . . calm, calm, bang. I've seen it in you, you know.”

  Godwin walked away stiffly. “Call me if there are any developments.”

  “Calm, calm, bang!”

  * * * *

  Thelma closed her book. “I think that's enough. Oh, my eyes. Well, I've found records of ghostly apparitions over Lucifer's Tomb going back twelve hundred years, to Saxon times. What about you?”

  Winston riffled through a heap of paper. “I've been cutting out the seismic records from these bound volumes. We can't carry the whole books back. I feel like a vandal. But look at all the detail in these signals!”

  “They almost look like speech traces.”

  “Yes. There's information in there. But it's got more intense in the last few years.”

  “While the Americans have been building the base.”

  “Looks like it. What do you think it all means?”

  Thelma said, “I don't know. I hope Doctor Jones will be able to figure it out. Time's nearly up anyhow. We'd better call him.”

  The room shuddered, a deep rumble. Thelma heard windows crack, and books fell from the shelves.

  Winston was wide-eyed. “I wasn't expecting that—not here.”

  “We'd better get out of here. Come on, let's get packed up.”

  * * * *

  The room hidden under the computer room was another metal-walled box, as brightly lit as those above, and cluttered with equipment.

  Clare pointed. “Look at these pipes, Doctor Jones. And these cables.”

  “Yes. It's clearly tapping off the base's circulation system, air, water. And the cables must hack into the computer suite. You could hide down here and take the place over, and nobody would know about it—until too late. A secret control centre. How predictable. How depressing.”

  “Take the place over to do what?”

  “Well, I'm not sure about that, Clare, not yet. But the fact that this is a nuclear base, and we have these rows of control consoles and that immense wall map of the world—these things do not fill me with a warm and fuzzy glow.” He glanced at his watch. “We've got ten minutes left of the ninety. Now listen to me, Clare. Just in case I don't make it out of here.”

  “Don't talk like that.”

  “There are a lot of nervous people running around with guns, and anything could happen. I want you to remember a few things. Tell Winston he was right about the ninety-minute orbits—and all the rest, in fact. Maybe he'll be able to get through to Tremayne. And tell Thelma one word. ‘Magmoids.'”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Thelma won't know either. But she might, conceivably, be able to find out through DS8's resources.”

  “I don't know what you're on about. And you're not dead yet. What now?”

  “I don't think we've got any choice.” He found an intercom microphone on a console, snapped a switch, and leaned forward. “Hello, hello? We surrender! Got that, Godwin? Come and find us. We need to talk!”

  * * * *

  The next tremor came as Thelma and Winston, on the police motorbike, fled down a city street. Smashed glass and broken bricks rained around them.

  Winston said, “Look at that, it's stove in Fenwick's shop window. There'll be hell to pay for that. You all right?”

  “This rucksack's pulling my shoulders off. Look, don't worry about me, just look for a phone. We have to talk to Jones.”

  “There's one down this alley, I think—”

  “Look out!”

  An avalanche of bricks and glass spilled over the road before them.

  * * * *

  Buck Grady marched Jones and Clare into the Hades command centre. Godwin waited with Tremayne at his side. Major Crowne hovered in the background, looking as uncertain as ever. Jones tried to conceal his own nervousness.

  Godwin snapped, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have your heads blown off right now.”

  Crowne stepped forward. “Take it easy, sir.”

  Jones said, “Yes, Commodore—take a deep breath and tell us all why you've installed some kind of secret control centre beneath the computer room!”

  Tremayne said, “'Secret control centre?’ What on Earth—”

  “Why doesn't it surprise me that you don't know anything about it, Professor? I fear your wonderful dreams of ‘geographical engineering’ are in danger of being hijacked.”

  Buck was watching the monitors, green traces flickering across cathode ray screens. “Sir. Major Crowne. Look at this. Seismic signals up all over the place.”

  Tremayne pushed forward. “Let me see that. He's right, by God.”

  Godwin said, “Aftershocks from the detonation, that's all.”

  “Oh, don't be absurd, man. Look here, and here. The timing's all over the shop. This has nothing to do with aftershocks. It's some different phenomenon entirely.”

  “I told you to expect this,” Jones said. “We've had ninety minutes’ grace since your irresponsible nuclear detonation. Ninety minutes, granted us by orbital mechanics.”

  Tremayne said, “Orbital mechanics? What are you talking about, man?”

  “There's something inside the Earth, Tremayne. Not just rock and iron—something more. Something alive. It was sleeping. Now you've woken it up. And it's about to rise up—”

  Without warning Godwin punched him in the mouth. Jones staggered back, the pain exploding.

  Crowne cried, “Commodore Godwin!”

  Tremayne said, “Calm, calm, bang, eh, Godwin?”

  Jones gasped for breath, trembling, and he looked at the blood on his hand. “Well, Cassius Clay would have won the gold medal twice over with that one. Is that your only response, Commodore? Violence?”

  Tremayne said, “But what would you have us do, Jones?”

  “I'd evacuate the base, for a start—”

  Godwin snapped, “This base stays manned if I have to lock the doors myself. All this is an irrelevance. The project is everything. And the project will continue.”

  “Yes, but what project? Whose project?”

  Buck said now, “Umm, actually—look at this. The seismic signals are dying away. Things are calming down.”

  Godwin said, “Well, well. So much for your prophecies of doom, Jones?”

  “That's absurd. Let me see that. Oh, get your hands off me, Sergeant! Tremayne? What do you make of this?” He waved a heap of paper, summarising the seismic results he'd retrieved below.

  Tremayne flicked through the sheets and compared them with the oscilloscope traces. “Locally, yes, the signal is dying. But look at this spike over here.”

  “Yes, that's it. There's the ninety-minute response all right. But the epicentre isn't here as I expected. It's about thirty miles southeast.”

  A telephone jangled. Grady picked it up and listened. “Doctor Jones. It's for you!”

  Godwin said, “Oh, good grief—”

  Jones s
natched the phone. “Hello? Hello!”

  Thelma's voice, relayed through a small speaker, was barely audible. “Jones? Is that you?”

  “It's a dreadful line. Where are you?”

  “We're in—” She was interrupted by a series of beeps. “Oh, for heaven's sake—have you got another sixpence, Winston? We're still in the city. We've got the data you wanted. It's all kicking off here, Jones. Earth tremors, damage to the buildings, cracked roads—”

  Tremayne said, “Jones. Look at this map. That epicentre. Thirty miles southeast. That's the city. Newcastle.”

  Jones said, “Oh, my word. That's it. They aren't targeting the base. They're attacking the nearest population centre. Thelma, can you hear me? You've got to get out of there. Never mind the data. Just get out of the city, get out!”

  There was a roar, distorted by the phone line. “Jones? I think—” The line went dead.

  “Thelma? Thelma!”

  * * * *

  3

  0135.

  “Winston!”

  “Here, Thelma. I'm under a hod-load of bricks.”

  “Wait, don't move, I'm coming.” She dug into the heap of bricks with her bare hands until she had uncovered his face and shoulders. Winston stirred and at last was able to sit up. “Are you hurt?”

  “It all sort of washed over me. What about you?”

  “The telephone kiosk fell over on top of me. I think it saved me. The phone was cut off, though. There. Can you stand up?”

  He struggled to his feet. “I'm a bit dusty—the bike! Clare's going to kill me.”

  “It's still here, where we left it. And here's the rucksack with the data.”

  “That bike's better off than we are.”

  There was a distant explosion; they both flinched.

  Winston said, “Look, Thelma, I know how important it is to get back to the base and report in to Doctor Jones. We're on a sort of mission. But—”

  “You're worried about your mother.”

  “You saw how she's fixed. She's not going to be able to cope with this lot by herself.”

  “Then we'll go and get her.”

  “Are you sure? I thought you'd argue.”

  Thelma smiled. “Not me. We'll save your mother, then we'll save the world. And besides, you're the one with the bike. Now, come on, give me that rucksack. I suppose that ugly beast is going to start, is it?”

  She was answered by a roar as the engine kicked in.

  The Hades command centre hummed with tension; information poured in via the phone lines and teletypes.

  Major Crowne said, “There's no news coming out of Newcastle.”

  Clare asked, “Have you got through to the police control centre?”

  “Constable, the emergency services are trying to work their way in. There's clearly a major human disaster unfolding in there.”

  Jones cried, “I told you so!”

  Godwin said, “Be silent, man. What's going on further afield, Major Crowne?”

  “It's sketchy. Lots of disruptions to the comms globally. It's going to take a while to put it all together.”

  Tremayne said, “I suppose you'd say we have another ninety minutes’ grace, Jones.”

  “Precisely. Ninety minutes until the next wave of attacks.”

  Godwin said, “Attacks? We're dealing with a geological phenomenon, not a purposeful foe.”

  “Oh, you know that, do you?”

  Tremayne said, “Godwin, he could be right, at least about some of this. It might be wise to suspend the programme until we're absolutely sure we know what we're dealing with. If there is a connection between the Hades detonations and these geological upheavals—”

  “I rather think that's my call, don't you think?”

  Jones said, “Then make the right call, man, for once in your life.”

  Tremayne sighed. “And what would you have us do, Jones?”

  “Do what good scientists always do. Gather data. First we need to establish just what has happened in Newcastle, and any other problem areas around the country—around the world, if necessary—I presume your communications here are capable of that. Second, Tremayne, you and I need to work on the seismic data you've got heaped up down in your computer centre, but never bothered to interpret properly, if I may say so. I hope to prove once and for all what we're facing here. And finally I need Thelma and Winston brought back here safely. The data they are bringing back has a broader base than the monitoring you've done here.”

  “All right, Jones, we'll do things your way—for now.”

  Godwin said, “Well, I won't stop you, if you stay out of the way of the project. But I think you're a pack of fools, wasting time and resources.”

  Jones snapped back, “Yes, well, you would think that, wouldn't you?”

  Crowne put in, “About your friends, Doctor Jones. I'll detail Sergeant Grady to bring them in.”

  Tremayne nodded. “Good. Sergeant, hook up with Captain Phillips; the British forces outside will be able to help.”

  Buck said, “Yes, sir. But how will I find them? Things sound kind of chaotic out there.”

  Jones asked, “Clare, does Winston have any family?”

  “Yes, his mother. She lives alone in Gateshead.”

  “Give the details to Sergeant Grady. Then plot a straight-line course from there back to the base. Sergeant, they'll be somewhere on that line. I know Thelma. Right, Tremayne, got your slide rule oiled?”

  * * * *

  The door was half off its hinges, with loose bricks and tiles heaped up against it. In the distance, sirens wailed.

  Winston scrambled over the rubble. “Mum. Mum! Thelma, the house is shaken to bits.”

  “Where will your mother be?”

  “It's the small hours. She'd have been asleep, in the bedroom upstairs.”

  “Winston, the roof's gone. There is no upstairs.”

  “Oh no, oh God—”

  “Now take it easy. Think, Winston. Where was the bedroom?”

  “Over the parlour. Through here.” He forced his way through heaps of plaster and timber. “Mum? Are you here?

  Her voice was faint. “Winston? That you? Ee, man, what's going on? Are the Jerries starting up again?”

  “Mum, are you hurt?”

  “Well, me leg got squashed. Good news is it's me wooden one. And me bed came right through the ceiling. Soft landing, like. Always was a lucky bugger, me.”

  Thelma said, “We're going to get you out of here.”

  Hope laughed. “How? On that motorbike, like Mods and Rockers? I don't think so.”

  Winston said, “Thelma, if you want to get back to the base, leave us—”

  “Absolutely not. We're going to take her with us, leg or no leg. We just need to work out how.”

  * * * *

  Tremayne led Jones and Clare back to the computer centre. “All right, Jones, it's your show. Where do we start?”

  Jones glanced around. “Look, we want to get all the seismic data you have, fed through your main processor here, and plotted up as graphical displays on these screens. Clare, you know where the tapes are, you can help too.”

  Tremayne said, “Suppose you tell me what kind of ‘graphical display’ you want.”

  “A section of the Earth. Deep as you like—all the way to the core if you can. I want to be able to see where these disturbances you've been tracking are travelling.”

  “That's asking a lot. We're only one observing point here; we need triangulation.”

  “That's what I'm hoping to get from Thelma's data, among other things. But we can squeeze a lot out of this data set with a bit of ingenuity.”

  Tremayne rubbed his chin and looked absent; he was obviously a man who relished a scientific puzzle. “Hmm. I suppose we could look for signal attenuation. Reflections from the mantle layers. That the sort of thing?”

  “Precisely—”

  Crowne bustled in. “Professor Tremayne, Doctor Jones. We've had some input from outside. The comms are still pat
chy. Newcastle's been hit bad. Massive earthquakes and aftershocks, as far as the Cheviot hills. The geologists can't make any sense of it.”

  “I'm not surprised,” Jones said.

  Tremayne said, “And further afield?”

  “There are trouble spots all over—tremors, quakes, even volcanism. All over the world, I mean.”

  Jones said, “Where, exactly? Show me, man. Clare, bring over that world map.”

  “Bring the tapes, fetch the map, make a cup of tea. Just remember you're still under arrest, Doctor Jones.”

  “Now, now, Constable Clare.”

  Crowne took the map and used a thick black pen to mark locations. “You have these sites across the continental US, here, here, here. And across western Europe, the south as far as Turkey, and in Australia, Japan—”

  Jones said, “Well, there's no obvious correlation with any patterns of seismic activity I know about. Tremayne?”

  “I'm afraid it's rather obvious to me. Major?”

  Crowne said, “Doctor Jones, these are Project Hades emplacements. Like this one.”

  “More buried bombs. Well, well. There's your correlation, Tremayne!”

  Tremayne stared. “Good Lord—now I don't know what to believe.”

  “Then let's get on with this data analysis and wash away all your doubt.”

  * * * *

  Buck Grady was waiting behind the wheel of the truck. Phillips climbed up beside him. “Right, let's get going, Sergeant.”

  Buck started the engine. “Yes, sir.” The truck pulled away. “You sure this is going to be enough, just the two of us?”

  “I think so. Things are quiet for the moment and my men are getting a bit of shuteye. Leave them to it. Who knows what we'll have to deal with in the morning? Besides this is just a quick in-and-out to retrieve those two civilians.”

  “Turning into a long night, though, Captain Phillips.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Here, take another smoke.”

  “Thanks. Your Yankee drags are disgusting, though.”

  “I'll try to come better equipped next time. You have family yourself, Captain?”

  “The missus and two little girls. Down in Sussex, a long way from the action here. I tried calling, but the lines are down. What about you?”

  “Just my fiancee, in Long Beach, California. They say there's problems out there too.”